The love of a writer runs deep as the words she puts to paper.
She scrutinizes every paragraph, every sentence, trying to make sure that it conveys the exact magnitude of emotions she holds.
She wastes hours hunched over her desk, fervently scribbling yet another love poem that he will never read.
She holds a pen in place of his hand. Endless amounts of ink flow as she continually tries to convince herself that he will fall for the words she has written about him.
The love of a writer is the simultaneous source of her pain and pleasure.
She cries herself to sleep with the agony, yet this pain fuels her art, her will to keep writing.
She feels deadened inside—empty—yet she finds inspiration in excruciation, making her feel alive.
She is a juxtaposition of contrasts.
Committing all emotion to permanence, with her pen and paper, immortalizing her affection in every line...
The love of a writer is lasting.